


No Guarantees

by Ellisama



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Dead Lucina!AU, Falchion, Gen, third timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellisama/pseuds/Ellisama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t Naga’s chosen warrior nor Falchion’s destined fighter. But when the world’s last hope laid dead at his feet, what was Morgan supposed to do but pick up her doomed sword and finish what she started?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> COVER ART BY RYNNAE ([tumblr](http://rynnae.tumblr.com/)), THANK YOU FOR BEING AWESOME AND GIVING ME PERMISSION TO USE IT!

_‘… but there are no guarantees in war’_

 

It was raining when his world ended.

A drop fell on her cheek, mingled with blood and raced down her face, leaving a red trail behind. Another one fell on her precious sword, still loosely held in her cold hands. Not even death could keep them apart it seemed. Morgan gently stroked her cheek, silently praying for her to open her eyes while his heart continued to break with every breath he took without her.

 _‘I swear that this war will not claim me. I refuse to leave you all alone.’_ Those had been her words, and he had believed her. They echoed in her mind, and for one delusional second Morgan believed he could see her lips move once more, but the delusion did not last. Tears spilled from his eyes once again, a warm teardrop falling on her still chest, disappearing into the ugly, bleeding wound that took her away from him.

“You promised…” He uttered into the desolate night, a copper taste in his mouth. But no-one answered him this time.

It had happened in a split second. They were fighting side by side, as they always did since they had been driven out of their home with only their mother’s cloak and father’s sword as a memento of better days. A hand full of children, just as orphaned by the dark priesthood as they were, followed their every step with the hope that the prince and princess could lead them to a new tomorrow.

Or, should he say _princess_. It had always been Lucina who hid her tears while he cried into her dress, who raised father’s sword, rallying strength, courage and a will to fight into what little remained of the Ylisse. She’d always been the destined leader, and he in turn was content to serve by her side like his mother had done for all those years, a steadfast adviser cloaked in shadows.

He would have taken the hit for her, and she knew that. After fighting what seemed like thousand battles with their backs against each other, Morgan sometimes couldn’t remember where Lucina began and where he ended. She knew he’d die for her, gladly, with a smile on his face. And deep down, he knew she would never let him. Perhaps that is why, when they got separated and a dozen Risen drove him into a corner, ready to end his life and eat whatever remained afterwards, she did not heed his call to flee. Instead, she grit her teeth, yelled his name with a near suicidal devotion, and stormed through her enemies sword first, caution last. Like an angel of death she delivered him from a certain end with every slash of her holy sword, shielding his trembling body with her own when steel was not enough. He sat crouched on the ground, trembling in pain and exhaustion, while his sister stood in front of him like an eternal guardian, radiant and immortal, and all he could do was watch her. Lucina ensured he would see the end of that battle, but at a price.

He would have taken the blow for her, and he should have known that she felt the same way. A Risen cried out, furious even on the verge of eternal extermination, and used his last act on this godforsaken world to pierce his sword straight through his sister’s chest.

He heard her gasp in surprised agony, an unholy sound, before she finished the undead swordsman without faltering for a second. She gave out a shrill cry before another Risen fell to her blade, and then another, and for a second Morgan thought the sword was nothing but an illusion, the sharp, bloody edge that was sticking out from her back just a trick of the dying light of the evening sun. But then her step faltered, and along with the next Risen she fell on top of him like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

“Sister!” He cried, snapping out of his daze when he met her bloodshot eyes, blood trailing down her lips, a mantra of no! no! no! falling off his lips like a waterfall of sorrow.

Lucina smiled through gritted teeth and raised her sword again with visible effort, shielding him  from an incoming arrow seconds before it would kill him. Then her strong arm became limb, and it fell gracelessly, eliciting a tired groan of pain from Lucina. The arrow might as well have hit him straight through the heart, for the sight of her gently pulling out the sword that pierced her chest was enough to break him then and there.

“Lucina, get up! You can’t fall here!” He cried, scurrying to his feet besides her, his heartbeat high in his throat.

Her voice was raspy, as if every breath cost her. “I’m s-sorry Morgan…” Lucina whispered, barely audible on the battlefield. “Promise me… you’ll escape.. from this place.”

“No! Open your eyes, Lucy! Stay with me!” Morgan begged like a child, burying his hands into the bleeding mess that was her chest, desperately hoping to stop the bleeding. But it spilled through his finger, her precious life fading away with every drop of red.

Another Risen with a large axe ran towards them, his eyes on his sister, eager to finish the job, and Morgan’s despair abruptly changed to blood boiling rage, his hands itching for vengeance. “Don’t you dare touch her!” His voice was tightly knotted and nothing like his own while the black rage boiled up inside of him. Like the tide of the dark ocean, Morgan allowed it to overcome him, to envelop his senses until all he saw was red.

Dark lightning shot from his fingertips, leaving a cold tingling feeling in his blood-soaked hands. He’d lost his last tome long ago, but it didn’t seem to matter. Cold, purple thunder struck left and right, draining the life from his veins and decimating one Risen after another while he stood protectively over Lucina’s broken body without knowing how he did it.

When the red faded from his vision and the last of his strength had been sapped, the battlefield was a silent graveyard of burned flesh and broken bones, one corpse more mutilated than the other. A sight that would have horrified him on a normal day, but left him stone cold in the face of his sister’s shallow breaths.

“Lucina! Stay with me!”

But she didn’t answer. Her glassy eyes stared off into a place he could not see.

 _‘You promised._ ’ her eyes told him, and he was brought back to that day that seemed like decades ago. “... but there are no guarantees in war.” She had admitted, and pushed their father’s sword into his hands. There had been no light when he touched the sacred sword, no feeling of coming home. He wasn’t the chosen one, destined to return peace to Ylisse, to end Grima and avenge their family.

And yet, with twitching muscles and trembling fingers, Lucina raised their father’s sword once more, nudging him to take it and all that came with it.

“But how?” He howled back into the streaming rain, falling to his knees next to his dying sister. “Why couldn’t you just leave me? Why couldn’t you just let me die?”

When Morgan didn’t take the sword, Lucina let her and fall to the ground and set her brow in grim determination as she coated her finger in her own blood. Morgan followed her hand as she shakily traced it into the mud next to her to spell the words her pierced lungs could no longer speak.

With every letter Lucina wrote she faded away a little, until the last letter was little more than a red line in the mud. But she finished the words anyway, agonizing stroke for stroke, until it was done. She smiled with gritted teeth, her eyes searching in the sky for things that were not of this world. Desperate to keep her with him, he cupped her cheeks, his hands still numb from the power he had unleashed, and felt her pulse slowing under his fingertips. “Don’t leave me, Lucina! Brady, he can’t be far! They’ll find us! Just hang on a little bit more.”

But it was a lie, and they both knew it. The young shepherds had been separated for days, and even if Aunt Lissa would rise from the dead and be here this very moment, she wouldn’t have been able to stitch the gaping wound that once was her chest, nor the organs threatening to spill out. Lucina, her blind eyes drooping close, every breath a struggle, opened her lips once more. Her fingers twitched, but it was too late.

_‘Love you always’_

The three words she wrote into the sand with her own blood might as well been carved into his very skin with Falchion itself, burned into his back with the heat of thousand suns, and it still wouldn’t have hurt as much as the sight of his precious sister breathing her final breath into his arms to a song of broken no’s.

But no matter how long or how loud he pleaded, she would not open her eyes again. Lucina of Ylisse, champion of Naga and future exalt, was no more.

 _‘You promised,’_ an eerie voice chided him long after she had faded, sounding like a haunting mix between his mother and his sister, and for a wonderful ignorant second Morgan wanted to believe they were both alive, standing behind him, ready to take him into their arms and right all that was wrong with the world.

Morgan wanted to scream into the night, but couldn’t find the words that would make it better. He had promised, but that was when she had been right beside him, steadfast and immortal. Never in his worst dreams had he ever imagined that she could actually fall, that the burden would be his to carry.

And yet, he had promised. With her last energy, Lucina had protected him. When she could no longer stand, she still saved him. Until her dying breath she had loved him, trusting him to finish what she had started. _‘Take the Falchion, and lead them to the Promised Land.’_ The wind chided him, and delirious with over exertion and grief, Morgan could do no more than shake his head.

He wasn’t Naga’s chosen warrior nor Falchion’s destined fighter. But when the world’s last hope laid dead at his feet, what was he supposed to do?

“No.” His voice was no more than a breath in the wind, but no one was alive to hear it anyway. He gently pried Falchion from Lucina’s cold hands, as if a wrong move would break her. He did not raise it into the air, no feeling of light and goodness overcame him. He did not leave her, like the wind commanded him, nor did he take the sword for himself. Instead, he planted the ancient blade into the ground, took off his cloak and gently wrapped it around her quickly cooling body, and lifted her from the earth. Had she always been this light? She had always seemed so strong and commanding, like a mountain. Barely taller than him, and yet so high above him. With her head pressed against his numb chest, it was almost as if she were sleeping.

The rain continued falling, like heaven itself was weeping along with his broken heart. He almost lost his footing and fell to the ground again when he saw how it puddled up where she had breathed her final breath, her last words blurring out of existence until it was nothing but memory, carved into his heart.

He considered leaving the sword where it was, or to sheathe it into his own chest, just to stop his chest from hurting. But with Lucina, cold and dead and pressed against his broken heart, he knew that regardless of what waited for him on the other side he would not be able to face her if he did either of those things.

Falchion gleamed in the faint light of the rising summer sun, calling him out in a language he never learned, as he cradled the doomed blade between himself and his sister. Morgan swallowed his tears like he had seen Lucina do so many times before, and started walking home.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With careful, deliberate steps, Morgan carried her to her final resting place, hating every second of it with a passion.

"It's them!" Inigo's voice echoed through the wasteland. He was smiling, worry etched into his face, but happy to see them all the same. Morgan counted the seconds until his smile fell in grim realization. He didn't have to count for long. Inigo hurried towards them, and Morgan dreaded every step. If Inigo knew, if anyone but himself knew of his failure, then it would be real. He had been walking for what seemed like days, night and day changing over his head, but that same energy that had weaponized his rage before allowed him to put one foot in front of the other without stopping. But deep in his exhausted bones, he knew that his long desolate journey was over, as Inigo and undoubtedly the rest of the shepherds caught up with him. "Is she alright?" He asked before anything else, and Morgan contemplated lying to him just to spare his feelings.

It would have been the kind thing to do, but not the right one, and with Lucina gone he no longer had the option to take the easy way out. So he shook his head, set his eyes on the makeshift shelter his friends had made in their absence, and kept walking, Inigo hot on his heels.

"Morgan! Lucina! We were so worried!" Nah cried when she saw them approach. Undoubtedly, Inigo had been on guard duty while she watched over their home. "Everyone, wake up! Lucina and Morgan are back!" But the mirth in her eyes quickly cooled when she met his eyes, and Morgan knew in that moment that she could see the depths of everything that had occurred in the past few days. Her dragonstone fell from her hand, along with a lone tear that he hadn't known he was still capable of shedding. She by his side before Inigo could catch up with him, her gaze never leaving his. She'd always understood him best, except perhaps for-

"Oh Naga!" Her voice was little more than a breath, and it took all his strength to not drop to his knees right there and then. Nah carefully put her hands on Lucina’s forehead in disbelief, and next to him Inigo let out a shrill, inhuman sound as the realization dawned upon them both. 

Lucina was stiff in his arms. Rigor mortis had set in some time ago, making it impossible for him to carry her in any other way than he did now without breaking her. Save for the unhealthy shade of her cool skin and the dried blood on her lips, she almost seemed serene, wrapped in their late mother's cloak. Nah let out a strangled sob. But while the tears fell down her cheeks without abandon, she too had been hardened by life in this godforsaken world, and didn’t break. With surprisingly strong hands for a girl of her size on his back, she guided him towards their humble dwelling. Behind them Inigo stammered denials into the cool night air, while slowly their friends started to awaken. Nah spread out her own cloak, and with her help he put Lucina on the ground. When the weight lifted from his tired arms, it didn't feel like a relief, but rather like a part of his body was being amputated. She had been like his soulmate, the other side of his coin, and Morgan thought that perhaps losing an arm would have hurt less than this. Anything less than this.

"Is she...?" Inigo whispered behind him, too afraid to speak the words out loud. 

Morgan squared his shoulders, swallowed his tears, and raised his hoarse voice. "Lucina died protecting me." There, the truth was out there. Let them know that it was his fault, that if he had been stronger, wiser, or perhaps just more like their mother and father, then she would still be smiling by their side, ever reserved but at least alive. 

Owain, seemingly coming out of nowhere, cried out in despair and dove onto her still figure. "No! Don't say that!" He cried, all of his usual bravado gone. Cynthia fell to the ground by his side, a dry sob stuck in her throat while his cousin despaired over Lucina's body. But no matter how many times he called her name, she would never open her eyes again.. 

Solemnly, as if every step was a futility, Brady approached him. A childish part of him hoped for his friend to tell him that she wasn't dead after all, that she could still be saved. But besides the fact that his father had been a dark mage and his mother a healer of great skill, the crying priest could not play god. His staff glowed in vain many times, but with every passing second the truth became more clear to all the companions. When Brady’s hands stopped glowing and he hung his head in defeat, it was final. He uttered what Morgan had already known: "I'm sorry guys. There is nothing I can do."

Morgan turned away from his sobbing friends, entered the shelter and allowed his body to drop to the ground. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, his dreams full of screams and blood.

 

\----------

When he woke again, he was in a different place than when he had fallen asleep. Despite the aching muscles, he pulled himself up. It was day. Morning perhaps, though probably somewhere in the afternoon if the light was any indication. He turned to his side to wake up his sister, surprised that she had allowed him to sleep in. _ 'As a prince of Ylisse, you should always strive to provide an example of good behavior for the rest,' _ she told him more times than he could be bothered to count, whenever he was eating with his hands or slacking off with Owain. Her beddings were nowhere close, which was strange since they always slept side by side in case the nightmares came back. He opened his mouth to call her name, but froze before he could produce the sound and it hit him like a landslide, only more painful.

Lucina was dead. There would be no more stern words, nor any night time conversations about the better days. A dry sob shook his frame, and he closed his eyes before the tears could spill from them anew. 

Morgan forced himself to open his eyes, and got dressed. His cloak had been washed, and he was surprised to find his wounds cleaned and dressed. Perhaps he had been asleep longer than he thought. Mechanically, he forced himself through the movements, fixing a blank look on his face. Feeling nothing was better than bursting from the seems and falling apart. He put on the cloak last, and was surprised to find his father's sword tucked under it, carefully sheathed and polished.  _ 'Owain, _ ' he thought, and a plan formed in his mind.

He made his way through the makeshift shed, a half buried camp of tents quickly stitched together to provide both shelter and privacy to their little rag tag group, yet could quickly be abandoned if the situation called for it. He found his cousin outside, sharpening an army knife he usually carried around, but his heart wasn't in it. "Hey." He greeted him.

Owain turned around abruptly, not bothering to hide his stuffy nose and puffy eyes. Without abandon, he jumped to his feet and took Morgan into his arms. Owain was both older and taller than him, but it was Morgan who patted his back like a parent would do to a child ( _ or _ , as the voice in his head provided softly, _ like Lucina would have done _ .) 

"You're awake! For a second I thought-" Owain finished his sentence with another pained cry, and allowed more tears to fall. He hadn't seen his older cousin cry like that since his mother died, many months ago. "We were afraid we would have to bury her without you, but-" He continued after his breathing had regained some semblance of normalcy, until Morgan cut him off.

"We should burn her." Every word hurt, but he didn't allow them to get stuck in his throat, even if his voice sounded nothing like his own. His cousin blinked at him as if he were a stranger, another blow to his already broken mind, but in the time between now and the second Lucina's heart stopped beating, it seemed he had learned to bear anything, and  _ this too  _ he could take. "I know the traditional funeral rite for Ylissean royalty is a burial, but dark times call for desperate measures."

Owain opened his mouth to say something, but then lowered his eyes in deference and whispered the words instead. "Gerome said the same thing." 

Of course he would have, and Morgan could see him say it, with a low, even voice and red, swollen eyes hidden behind his mask. "We don't want her to return from the dead as some caricature of herself." For a second, he remembered  _ that  _ tome, hidden deep in his mother's library. The one he was never supposed to know about, that was probably long burned to a crisp along with the other centuries worth of knowledge his mother had proudly collected over the years. He steeled his mind, forcing the traitorous thought from his mind: Lucina wouldn't have wanted that, even if it had been an option. "Where are the others? We need to gather dry wood as soon as we can if we want to get out of here before nightfall."

"We're safe here Morgan, and I think all of us need a little bit of time to grieve, you most of all. You're barely healed!" His cousin exclaimed, some of his old bravado back into his voice. He supposed they all had their own masks to hide behind.

"As soon as we light the fire, Risen will know where we are. We should be prepared for the worst, even with-" He swallowed the sob that threatened to spill out along with his childhood innocence. "with Lucina gone."

Owain looked like he wanted to protest again, but something stopped him. When he spoke again, it was as if he was speaking to a ghost. "You're right. I'll.... I'll inform the others."

"Thank you." Morgan said in even tones, allowing an uncomfortable silence to stretch between them. Owain carved a name into his pocket knife, but refrained from his usual naming ceremony. Morgan didn't need to see the letters to know whom it was named after. "Where is she?"

Owain pointed him to Brady's tent, and with a heavy heart and even heavier feet he dragged himself away from his cousin, trusting him to do his job. He was let in with a low grunt, unsurprised to find Brady crying in a corner, fiddling with the strings of his violin. He hurried himself to his feet when Morgan entered his humble dwelling, but Morgan raised his hand in dismissal. "I'm fine." He added, when he saw his eyes dart to the bandage that covered most of his hands. The lightning had left his fingertips numb, but after a long night of sleep he felt the telltale ache of burn wounds. He could tell it would scar, even without looking at them. The throbbing pain was almost a dull comfort, a distraction from the all consuming despair that threatened to drown what little that was left of his heart. 

He forced himself to look at his sister. Rigor Mortis left her in an awkward position on the ground, her muscles contorted in strange, uncomfortable angles.  Using the bloody cloth and red tainted water Brady had left out, Morgan helped him clean the gashes on her face. Brady, despite his tears, had managed to clean up most of her wounds for the funeral. Even her tunic had been stitched up again, undoubtedly by Gerome, if the neat stitches were anything to go by. It wasn’t until he dipped the cloth back into the water long after every speck of excess red was gone from her face, that he looked up to find Brady staring at him, a strange look in his eyes.

Perhaps it was his need for a distraction, or some hope of alleviating the tension between them, but Brady spoke. “Are you okay?” A stupid question, for Morgan felt at least as tired and grief stricken as Brady looked, and even without the tear tracks and the trembling hands, everyone could tell. 

Brady had always been good to him, caring and sincere in a dark world. It was tempting to simply fall into his arms and let go, but it was not something Lucina would have done if the tides had been reversed, that voice in the back of his head reminded him sternly, and so Morgan merely shook his head and searched for another part of skin to clean. This was the last time he’d get to look at her face, and he tried to commit every little detail to memory so she wouldn’t fade away over time like father did. Not that he ever told anyone that he could barely remember how his father, but Lucina had always known. Another secret she’d take to the grave for him.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until Nah, seemingly out of nowhere, put her hand on his shoulder and told him it was time. Morgan blinked, once, twice, and leaned back. His neck was aching painfully from sitting in that position for a long time, and had Severa been here all this time, carefully braiding Lucina’s hair? She wasn’t crying, but the tremor in her fingers told him enough. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, gaze fixed to the intricate braids that Lucina never sat down long enough for her to weave into her hair while she was still alive. 

He washed his hands clean in the muddy water, waiting for Severa to tie in the last strands of blue hair, so much like his own. Only then did she stand up, turn away, and stalk out of the tent.  With a ramrod straight back, Morgan lifted Lucina’s stiff body from the ground. She fit in his arms perfectly. 

With careful, deliberate steps, Morgan carried her to her final resting place, hating every second of it with a passion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clap your hands if you like pain, clap your hands.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Morgan’s grimace did not fade, Owain added with some of his usual theatrics: “A sword doesn’t choose its master, but a swordsman masters his blade.”

The Ylissean language had no specific word for the loss of a sibling, but their mother’s native language did. Morgan had only read it in ancient tomes before and never learned how to pronounce the Plegian word - never thought he would need to with a sister like Lucina - and so it rolled of his tongue awkwardly, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. This was what the end of the world tasted like, he supposed, ashes and blood.

 Gently, he laid Lucina on top of the pyre, her final resting place. There would be no golden statue to mark the spot after the fires had calmed down, nor would they dress in black for months to signify her passing. Mourning was a luxury of peacetime, this Morgan knew better than anyone else. There was only this moment, these few precious minutes before they lit the pyre, to say goodbye once at for all. But it didn’t matter whether they had seconds or hours, Morgan thought. No matter how much time they would be granted to grieve, it would never be enough to fill the hole where his heart used to be.

 He places a kiss on her forehead one final time and whispered one last apology against her hairline, hoping that wherever she was, she would hear it. With all the strength that remained in his body he pulled himself away from her corpse, allowing the others a chance to say goodbye to her. One by one, his friends whispered confessions softly into the wind, hoping that they may somehow reach her in a better life. Morgan tried not to listen, pretended not to see the tears on Gerome’s uncovered face nor witness Severa’s heartfelt declarations. Those words were not meant for his ears.

 When there were no more words left to say and the light of day started fading away, Nah turned to him, expectations in her eyes. It dawned on Morgan that all of his friends were looking at him like they had looked at Lucina, with unwavering faith and unmountable expectations. Perhaps they were waiting for a grand speech, one that would rally their spirits or at least remember Lucina fondly before she went up in flames.

 Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue. What could he say? How sorry he was? How he was just fourteen, a boy by any account, unfit to lead them to a better tomorrow, too weak to wield the sword his sister had entrusted him with? 

 In the end, he settled for the truth. “I have no words for this loss. Lucina… I always imagined her to be immortal, stronger than any tide. It should not have been her here tonight that we’re burying…” ‘ _it should have been you instead’_ , the voice in his head echoed cruelly, sounding both like Lucina, and nothing like her at all at the same time.

 He hesitated for a second, glancing towards his sister’s face, almost peaceful in death. Lucina would not have shared his desperation, her voice would not have broken like his did, and so he swallowed his tears and tried to look braver than he felt. “But none of that matters anymore, does it? Nothing is the way it’s supposed to be anymore, and all we can do is push on to fulfil Tiki’s mission, no _Lucina’s_ mission. Before we were ambushed, Lucina and I were finally able to pinpoint the location of Naga’s shrine on Mount Prism.”

 “What about the final gemstone? We can’t perform the awakening ritual without it!” Severa sneered, her voice still raspy from crying too much.

 Nah spoke before he could. “Lady Tiki said that there were other ways to save this world, should we be unable to accomplish our search. Considering our recent losses, I believe it would be better to seek the guidance of Naga instead of blindly searching for the fifth gemstone. We’ve been looking for months, and still can’t find it.” 

 For a second, it looked like Severa wanted to respond with some mean remark, but before she could say anything, another voice chimed in.

 “What other choice do we have?” Gerome asked, his voice heavy with tears he would never show them willingly. Although his question was aimed at their entire group, he was turned to Morgan, expecting an answer from him.

 “We don’t have one. Not anymore.” He did not tell them how the Falchion remained a dull blade under his touch, how it would not awaken in the hands of an unworthy scion like himself, not even if all gemstones were present. Searching for Naga’s guidance was not just their best option, it was their only option. 

 Instead, he took a deep breath, and lifted an old fire tome from his satchel, knowing that there was no time to stall the inevitable. On the inside, in an archaic language the words Micaiah’s Pyre were inscribed. “If everyone’s ready…” Morgan asked in vain, knowing they would never be ready to part with Lucina. Owain shook his head, tears falling down his face, but he said yes anyway. Laurent silently offered to do the deed, but Morgan dismissed him with a simple shake of his head. He had failed her before, but he would not fall short again. The time of hiding in shadows was over.

 The ancient language of fire fell from his tongue with ease, casting red and yellow flames hot enough to burn through friend and foe alike upon the pyre. He watched the flames climb higher and higher into the night, eating away at his sister’s skin and clothes until the smell of burning flesh and bones became too much and he had to look away. For a short, fleeting moment, it was as if they were all burning together. 

 He resisted the urge to fall into Severa’s arms like Cynthia did, crying her eyes out like she had done the day they had lost Sumia, or perhaps even harder. But he couldn’t, so when his knees stopped buckling he quietly marched to Owain, who was staring numbly into the blinding light of the fire.

 His cousin barely responded when he put his hands on his shoulder, quiet for once. “She’s really gone…” Owain muttered softly after a long and heavy silence, as if only now the realization was settling in. 

 Morgan took a deep breath, steadying himself, remembering how his mother had spoken to his father years ago. “Risen and Grimleal should be alerted by the fire, any second now and they will be drawn to us. We should pack our bags and move swiftly while we still have some daylight to light our way.”

 Owain turned to him and looked at him strangely, his eyes still distant. “Why are you telling me this?”

 Morgan swallowed the tears away. “You’re… you’re the eldest prince now.” With trembling fingers, he took the blade from his satchel, offering it to his cousin. When Owain made no effort to grasp it from him and release him from the burden of succession, Morgan unceremoniously dropped it in his hands. “This should be yours. I’m not much of a swordfighter anyway.”

 “Morgan…” Owain shook his head, respectfully holding the sheathed sword forged from Naga’s own body. If anyone could appreciate it, it was his cousin. “This is your father’s blade.”

 “It’s our grandfather’s blade. It’s yours as much as it is mine,” Morgan corrected him. That it was really Lucina’s went unspoken between them, but neither needed to say it.

 For a second, Owain seemed to consider the path before him. Morgan knew that he would be a great Exalt, a positive force to lead their dying nation to a new era of peace and prosperity. But then the vision disappeared and Owain shook his head. He gently placed the sacred sword back in Morgan’s arms, his eyes once again on the fire that lit up the evening sky. “She entrusted the Falchion to you. I may be a prince of Ylisse, but I’m no leader. I… I couldn’t have carried her home like you did. I can barely carry myself.”

 “ _Please_ , Owain. It _has_ to be you,” Morgen pleaded, the tears threatening to spill from his eyes for the first time since they had lit the pyre, desperation clawing at his throat. Why wouldn’t he pick up his birthright? Why wouldn’t Owain liberate him from this duty he was unworthy of? 

 Owain sighed, a tear rolling from his eyes and an odd calm in his voice that was more unnerving than anything else. “I’m sorry Morgan, but they’re not looking at me for guidance. They’re looking at you,” he said, gesturing at their friends, as if Morgan could not feel their eyes on him with every step he took. “You can’t see it, but we can. She lives in you, in your reflection.”

 When Morgan’s grimace did not fade, Owain added with some of his usual theatrics: “A sword doesn’t choose its master, but a swordsman masters his blade.”

 “Not this blade.” 

 Owain shook his head, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing a small smile on his face. “Lucina didn’t think so, and neither do I.” His voice sounded fragile, but his words were strong, and Morgan knew that his decision was final. 

 Then, Owain kneeled before him, one hand still on the Falchion, and some of his usual dramatic fire in his eyes. “Go on, tell the rest what you told me, and I will have your back every step we take. I… on my sword hand, on our sacred blood, I vow that never again another family member shall be taken from me.” His words were quiet, but as strong as the fires that burned Lucina, and though they were barely louder than a whisper, Morgan knew that all of their companions had heard them.

 One by one, his friends kneeled like Owain did, silently repeating a vow they had once pledged to his sister. Some vowed to follow him wherever he went, others vowed not to fail him where they had failed Lucina. They were all children, too young to serve and too young to die, and yet ready to trust him with everything they had left. He knew that they meant every word, as a vision of their broken bodies falling before him flashed before his eyes, and deep in his soul he knew that in this wretched world there was no mercy, that nobody was too young or too innocent to die.

 They all knew it, and yet none of them got up and left, choosing to put their fate in his hands instead.

 With tears in his eyes, Morgan vowed to be worthy of the blood they would shed in his name, of the loyalty they so freely offered him. Deep down, a voice was telling him he would never be worthy, but he could not afford insecurities anymore, not when the last remnants of the Shepherd’s pledged their lives to him like this. He straightened his shoulders and dried his tears, clutching Falchion against his rapidly beating heart and hoped that wherever Lucina was, she could hear him.

 “Thank you, all of you,” he said with a heavy voice, drying his tears on his mother’s cloak before strapping his father’s sword to his back. 

 Brady laughed through his tears, coming in for a bear hug seconds before Cynthia and Owain joined him, and for a second Morgan felt like he actually had a shot at this.

 The spell was broken when the cry of a Risen sounded through the night sky, reminding them of what laid ahead of them. Morgan barked orders, echoing his sister in every way, and within minutes they were ready to flee. While they ran, Morgan cast one last look at his sister’s funeral pyre, watching it burn brightly.

 Lucina would have wanted this, he told himself with every step he took away from her, but that was no guarantee he would succeed. After all, if she had failed, what chance did he have? 

 

\-----------------------

 

Morgan’s eyes clouded over, tears streaming freely from his eyes as his mother released her spell.

 “Are you alright sweetheart?” She asked, worry etched all over her face, but while he heard her words, he could not summon a reply.

 They had doubted whether or not the spell would work. It was an ancient hex aimed to solve memory loss, which they had found in Excellus’ Library in Valm after defeating the conqueror. But when cast upon his mother, the results were pitiful, conflicting images appearing in her memory without any order or connection. He had offered himself as a test subject without a doubt, only thinking of his mother, never thinking of the horrors his mind had chosen to lock away, perhaps for his own good.

 They had not expected the spell to work, but it did. Memories flashed before his eyes the second the incantation was complete, the pain as real as the day he had first felt it. He brought his shaking hands up, expecting them to be covered in blood and black burn marks, but they were clean. Still, the phantom pain remained, forever burned into his skin.

 “Morgan? What’s wrong?” A voice came from besides him, and it took him a second to realize that it was Lucina’s. But it couldn’t be hers. She had died in his arms, and these two very hands had carried her to safety, had lit her funeral pyre. He had watched her burn! 

 And yet, it was undoubtedly Lucina who folded her arms around him, as strong and unwavering as he remembered her to be. More recent memories returned to him, of how the Shepherds had found him in the ruins with a head injury, happily oblivious of the past. He remembered fighting side by side with his parents and sister, as if they had never died at all.

 Morgan blinked the tears away, trying to make sense of it all. It had all been real, but his memories did not lie. He had always known that these were not his parents, but never before had it occurred to him that this Lucina was not his sister. Morgan stared her while she probed him for answers, reveling in her warm skin against his own. _‘This is how it should have been,’_ the voice from his memories whispered seductively in the back of his mind. ‘ _It should have never been her.’_

 “Morgan?” The father that had died too young for Morgan to properly remember him asked, a steady hand on his shoulder. He wanted to reply, to lie and bury his memories anew, but instead his eyes were drawn to the sword at his side.

 Desperately, he searched for the same blade, entrusted to him by his fallen sister and trusting friends, knowing very well that It wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between these chapters. Fates happened, as you can tell from the amount of fic I've written about it already. I hope you can still enjoy the heart-wrenching pain I specifically wrote for you guys, and let me know how many of you I have broken today.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan remembers. As it turns out, so does Lucina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘… but there are no guarantees in war’

“Morgan?” His father asked, peeking into his tent and holding a tray of food. It was already late and he probably missed dinner in the mess tent, but he couldn’t be bother with such mundane things right now. His father stared at him wordlessly until Morgan gave him permission to enter.

They said nothing for a while. Things had never been awkward between them before, but that was probably because he’d had a tendency to fill every void with happy banter. His father set the tray with food on the table, and sat down next to Morgan, a bit too close for his comfort. “You’ve been acting different lately, son. Your mother and I worry about you.”

_Not my mother_ , _not my father,_ Morgan thought before he could stop himself. His father was long dead, his sword entrusted to Lucina first, and himself second. Where was it? Not all of his memories had returned as clearly as those of the events after Lucina’s death, and while he was grateful for that small mercy, it was an issue on it’s own. What of his friends? Had he failed and burned them too? Everything was still very hazy, and deep down Morgan wondered if he really wanted to know anyway.

“Son?” Chrom repeated once more, an awkward arm encircling him into a hug. Any other day he would have jumped at the chance to embrace his overworked father, but today every little thing was too much. 

Morgan pushed the arm away. “Not now! I said I was busy!”

He regretted his words the second their effect showed on his father’s face. He looked younger than the man from his memories, but hurt spread all the same over his tired features. “I… I’m sorry. I need to be alone right now.”

“I… understand,” his father said, slowly backing away. “But do try to eat. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow, and there is no guarantee the Risen will stay away tonight, either.”

“Of course, Father. I apologize for my behavior.” Morgan added with an less-than-sincere nod, and watched his father leave. He took a look around his surroundings, a clear improvement from his time as the New Shepherd’s leader. His tent wasn’t large by royal standards, containing little more than small bed made out of royal silks, a small foldable table with a tray full of meat and fruits on top of it. Considering the fact that they had to make do with meagre meals containing little more than insects and dried leaves in the past, it was pure luxury. Perhaps he should cut a hole in his tent and ask Gerome to stitch it, just for old time’s sake. But that wouldn’t change his situation.

Why had Lucina never said anything? Or, perhaps more importantly, where was her Morgan? There were too many questions laid bare in his head, and they were slowly driving him insane. And yet it took him till midnight, when the camp had calmed down and everyone had gone to sleep with the sole exception of an over-zealous Frederick and Sumia, who needed to clean the campsite of rocks for some unfathomable reason. Theirs was a strange marriage, but at least it allowed him to slip into Lucina’s tent unseen.

It wasn’t far from his own, and while he had never questioned it in the past, it felt strange to him now that they had separate tents. In his memory he had always shared either a room or a tent with his sister, until the day she perished. Afterwards her ghost had taken her place by his side, never truly leaving him alone.

When he called out her name and asked for permission to enter, she answered as quickly as she always had. Between the two of them, he was the heavy sleeper while his sister always remained vigilant for any possible danger. Still, that didn’t make her morning breath any better when she allowed him entrance, her hair messy despite the way she had braided it.

“What’s wrong Morgan?” She asked warily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Father said you weren’t well.”

The mention of their father made the stone in his stomach sink even further. He’d have to apologize to him in the morning, no matter what. Then, Morgan hesitated for a moment, his resolve slowly crumbling in the cold air. There was no easy way to say this, after all. “Can…. can I sleep with you tonight?” That wasn’t what he had wanted to say 

His not-sister looked surprised, but allowed it without question nonetheless. She laid down on her own pallet, and Morgan quickly stripped himself of his shoes and cloak and joined her, back to back just like they used to.

Morgan counted her every breath, listened to the way they slowly became more drawn out until his mind was convinced she was alive at last. Then, with all of his courage, he spoke. “You know I’m not your brother, right? 

It wasn’t really a question, rather a challenge, or perhaps a plea to prove him wrong. For a second, Morgan hoped her silence meant she was asleep, but he should have known he was not so fortunate. Lucina slowly got up, and even in the dark he could see the shock in her eyes. 

“You regained your memories?”

Morgan nodded against the fabric of her pillow, his eyes firmly closed. “Yes. The spell worked, well, at least partially.”

He didn’t need to open his eyes to see her blink. “Partially?”

“The more recent parts are still a bit fuzzy,” he admitted. “But I remember enough to know that you’re not my sister. So, why didn’t you tell me?”

Lucina sighed deeply and weaved her hands into his hair, kneading the skin softly just his own sister used to do after he’d had a nightmare. “You are my brother. Just like father and mother. Perhaps we hail from different worlds, but at the end of the day our blood does not change, and we are no less related. You are my brother, Morgan.”

And before he had regained his memories, he had believed that too. But things weren’t so easy anymore now that he could hear his sister’s dying words every time the world became too quiet, little droplets of blood falling on his skin instead of rain.

With a rapidly beating hard, he dared to ask: “Aren’t you worried what happened to your own little brother?”

“No,” Lucina hissed coldly, her whisper becoming more frantic with every word she spoke. “I know what happened to him. _Like I could ever forget!_ I….. I remember it every time I close my eyes too long.”

He could feel a slight tremor in the hand that played with his hair, gripping the strands a bit too harshly, as if she was afraid he could disappear right under her fingertips. Suddenly, all puzzle pieces fell into place, and he knew exactly what happened. 

Still, a morbid part of him, the part that always hungered for praise and knowledge, couldn’t resist to ask. “... How did he die?”

“By taking an attack that was meant for me.” Lucina’s voice was distant and matter-of-factly, as if she was discussing tomorrows marching schedule with their parents. It seemed as if her grief was a closed wound, an ugly scar that hurt every now and then when the weather turned sour, unlike the gaping hole Morgan felt in his chest.

“It was right before we jumped worlds. We were protecting the portal from Risen while the rest made the jump in time. You told me to make a run for it, because Naga couldn’t keep it open much longer.” She paused for a second, probably reliving her memories of that night before delivering them in a dull, toneless voice. “I looked around just before I made the leap through time to see you shield me from an incoming attack.”

“He might-” Morgan started, but Lucina shook her head sadly.

“The axe went through his chest. My little brother was strong, but he wasn’t immortal. Humans need air to breathe,” she said, and then for a long time nothing at all. There were no tears, only the emptiness adding to the void growing in his chest, gnawing at everything that was left of him. How long had she suffered in silence, Morgan wondered.

When she spoke again, it was with balled fists. “I tried to go back, but I couldn’t. I was already in the portal, on my way to save the future, and with it, his life. That mere thought sustained me when things got hard, that my life wasn’t just mine to throw away. He had given me the chance to live another day, so I couldn’t waste it.” Her voice was strong, that of a leader, of everything he aspired to be. And yet when he instinctively reached out to cradle her face, his hands met with wet skin, silent tears rolling down one by one into the privacy of Lucina’s dark tent. “So you can imagine my shock when we found you. I thought - no, hoped, that it had all been an illusion of Grima to waver my faith and make me turn around into his clutches. To be honest, I don’t know exactly what I was thinking. It didn’t matter, because you were back at my side, where you belonged. Deep down I knew it was too good to be true, but you know what they say, oblivion is bliss.”

A shrill laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it. “A sentiment I understand better than anyone else, I can assure you,” he said, his voice laced with tears.

“Come here Morgan,” his sister said seconds before he dove straight into her arms, sobs wracking through his body but unable to come out. _No more tears,_ he had promised himself when he burned her body. Even now, pressed against her beating heart, he couldn’t forget that promise.

Her hands on his back were like a blessing from Naga herself, her voice as soothing as that of their mother. “You’re trembling. Was I the one that died in your timeline?” Morgan nodded against her chest, unable to from the words. “Good. An older sister is always meant to protect her young siblings.”

“Good?!?” Morgan cried out in horror, hammering his fists against her back frantically. Still, she would not bulge. “How could you _say_ that! You died in my arms! My last remaining family, and... I carried you all the way back to camp! I burned your body, and had to take up your sword! There was nothing good about that!”

“Morgan, be quiet, you’re going to wake the rest of the camp up!”

He raised his voice even higher. Like he gave a fuck about the rest of the camp right now! “How can I be quiet when you say something like that! Don’t you understand how much I missed you! How much I wished it had been me who died, instead of you?” He yelled, trying to push her away, to make her understand what he had gone through.

“No more than I do, I think,” Lucina replied soberly, her hands never letting go of him. Even now, she was the strong one.

_‘See?’_ The sinister voice in his head echoed eerily. ‘ _It should have been you instead. Lucina would never break down like you.’_

And try as he might, Morgan couldn’t argue with that. He slumped against his sister in defeat, his breathing caught in her chest, coming out in struggled hiccups.

“Shh.” He heard her say over the whisperings from within, quelling them with her strong, melodic voice. “It’s alright now. You can cry now. We’re together again, that’s all that matters.”

Sometimes, people need permission to break down, even though they don’t realize it themselves. With all of his being Morgan wanted to stand strong, but there was nothing left of him left standing to do so. The pain that had been building up within him suddenly became too much, overflowing at the edges. And when the tears came, they wouldn’t stop coming, sobs wracking his body until he couldn’t see anymore. He let it all out, pressed closely against the only person in the world that could possibly understand his pain. She never once let go.

Every time he would attempt to speak or hide his pain, she would press soft, teary kisses into the crown of his hair like his real mother used to do, just before she never left and never returned again. But Lucina embrace was as vast as the night sky above them, and as unending.

“Let your memories rest for a bit. It will get better in time, I promise,” she whispered when he finally calmed down enough, guiding him to lay down next to her, her arms still wrapped around him protectively like a silent promise. “They will still be there in the morning.”

And she was right. Exhaustion soon took his senses from him, and while his sleep was far from peaceful, at least he was able to rest. They awoke at dawn after little sleep, red eyes and grim faces betraying what transpired last night, and dodging well-meant questions left and right. The hollowness didn’t just vanish with the heralding of a new day, but it was easier to face when he had someone walking next to him to carry the burden for him, be it in complete silence.

 

-

 

_Silence, time and company_. That was their cure. During the day, they continued their seemingly endless march against Grima. At night they shared food by the campfire, played silly games with the other children and talked with their parents. He never needed to tell Lucina that his thoughts crowded him when he was alone, never needed to speak at all. She hardly ever left his side, as if she knew his every thought. Together, they clung through the cold, cold nights, dreaming of a terrible past and gently hoping for a better tomorrow.

It wasn’t quite healing. Some scars never did. But in time, the void was filled with new life and purpose, and that was enough to get them through the day.

It wasn’t until their long trek up Mount Prism that Lucina broke their silent pact and asked her first question. He’d been anticipating it for weeks now, but when it came, it was not the one he had expected.

“What will you do after Grima is gone?” She asked one morning while they were folding their the sheets of their beds back into their packs. The need for sharing a bed had long passed, and especially after his most recent growth spurt, had become uncomfortable. Instead they merely shared a tent, always within each other’s reach when the nightmares became too much to bear.

Morgan looked at anything but her. It was a lovely day, wasn’t it? Especially considering the fact that the Fell Dragon was on the loose and the end of days was upon them. Truly, the weather could be a lot worse.

When Lucina shot her a certain look, he smiled brightly. “I’m certain mother will have some task for me, and you?” He answered non-committally.

“ _Morgan_ ,” Lucina chastised him sternly, and he could feel rather than hear the disappointment in her voice. When he didn’t answer her silent question she sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead. “Sometimes, we are too similar. Seriously, you can drop the act. I know you’re planning _something_.”

He shot her a blinding smile. “Am I that transparent to you?”

“Well, you _are_ my little brother after all,” was what her lips said, but her eyes spoke of a different story alltogether. It was then that Morgan realized that she had no intention of staying either after everything was said and done.

He sighed. “Remember when I had that terrible nightmare last week, the one I couldn’t wake up from?” His sister nodded with a grim look in her eyes. It had taken her a long time to calm him down that night. “I remembered what happened to my friends that night. And the promise I made them.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Are they…?”

“No,” Morgan admitted through gritted teeth, reliving his nightmare piece by piece, every scream, every drop of blood spilled to get him where he was today. “Not yet at least.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some real hurt/comfort going on here. Grief is terrible, and war traumas are nothing to joke about. While Lucina and Morgan might not have the best approach to healing, they at least have each other, and I feel like that’s more than Lucina ever had in canon. (Also, am I the only one that happened to the Morgan of Lucina’s timeline, since the Morgan you see in-game is not-so-subtly hinted to hail from a third world?)


End file.
